


The Lion and the Wolf

by megumijaya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megumijaya/pseuds/megumijaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this story, is my elaborate way to keep all my favorite ships in one story, most of my characters will do things that may or may not be the way GRRM would do it. Either way, I’m making a war between the North and the South. This is because Ned Stark’s true love is Cersei Lannister. Other relationships come after this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King of the North and the Dumped Queen

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU, where Jon Arryn dies and King Robert goes to Winterfell to ask Ned Stark to be his hand. The Lannisters do not go (Keep in mind all the things that happen if the Lannisters went to Winterfell), Ned and his children—Sansa, Arya and Bran—go to King’s Landing, where Stannis Bartheon stays and tells Robert about Cersei’s affair. From then on it’s all non-canon (sometimes semi-canon because the Wall and Daenerys is going to be the same).  
> Umm… you may notice little patterns I do, I do it subliminally. 
> 
> Please enjoy my chaos, if something you think is forgotten or super wrong please tell me. Thx!! Much Love!!

                                                                        

 

 

“Stannis told me because apparently everyone in this fucking realm already knew!”  
“Where is she, Robert? She is a highborn lady, the Queen, you can’t treat her anyway you want.”  
“I’m the King, I can do whatever I want and now that Golden whore and her twisted bastards are awaiting their executions on the morrow.” Robert grinned drunkenly at Lord Eddard Stark. Ned was used to his drunken stupor but now he’s gone too far.  
“You put Cersei in the dungeons.” Ned felt like yelling but the cold Northman inside him refused to stoop to the King’s—his used to be closest friend’s level. Coming to King’s Landing to be the Hand of the King was a vast mistake. He’d brought Sansa, Arya and Bran but refused to betroth Sansa to Joffrey.  
“And on the morrow, I’ll take her head.” Robert nodded his head at Ned like he was a wench asking to fill up his chalice with wine.  
“You’ll do no such thing.”  
“And who’ll stop me? You? It seems I’ve sent the wrong man to the wall if I found you’ve been resting in between the Lioness’ legs and not her damnable twin.” Robert stood up, though not quickly, from the Iron Throne. Ned didn’t shrink away from the large King (only large in girth). With the movement of the King all of the Kingsguard stood still, hands on the hilt of their swords. Lord Stark’s men then crowded behind.  
“You are wrong, and I won’t stand for it. I have looked passed all the horrors you’ve done to Westeros because you were friend. I became your Hand when you asked and left half my family, but now I won’t let you do this. I’m going to take my children, my men and Cersei and her children back to Winterfell. And from there, the North shall be its own once again.” Ned’s men cheered at this but all the Lords and Ladies gasped. This angered Robert more.  
“You will not do this Ned or I’ll raise all seven hells upon you, this’ll mean war!”  
“Winter is Coming, Robert, and only Northerners know of its strength.”

Hastily Ned walked out of the throne room and towards the dungeons. “Ready Bran and the girls, I wish to leave this evening.” Ned turned to speak to Steward Vayon Poole. Poole had brought his daughter, Jeyne, along as well, but inside wished he hadn’t.  
“Yes, Lord Stark.” The aged man went off towards the Hand’s Tower.  
Reaching the entrance of the Dungeons Ned thought best not to have his guard follow him in. “You all may go and ready yourselves. I want all the horses prepared and the best carriages for the queen and my girls.” He dismissed them and walked into the dark hall. Down the long corridor was spacious cells most filled with more than one prisoner. Every three cells a torch hung from the wall to give as little light needed to the prisoners.  
He could barely imagine how the royal family could possibly be faring. Cersei grew up in a lavish environment; a cell is no place for her.  
“Mother, how much longer must we stay here, Tommen wants his own bed?” Ned followed the voice of the young princess Myrcella and found the Queen and her children in one of the larger cells.  
“I don’t know, little dove.” Ned almost stopped his stride at the sound of Cersei’s broken voice. Instead he quickened his pace to get to his queen. The ghastly smell of piss upset Ned. This is our Queen. How could she be treated as such?  
“Cersei,” Ned called for her attention. It was the first time he had spoken to her since his arrival to King’s Landing since she and her children did not accompany the King to Winterfell. Her long golden locks were wildly caressing her head instead of its usual Southron style. Ned Stark felt his heart tighten at the sight of her, over the years her beauty intensified. He felt like his younger green boy self who first laid eyes on the Lannister Lioness. He thought of younger years when his father and Brandon were alive. Before he was tied to Catelyn and was madly obsessed with Cersei Lannister.  
He remembered begging his father to betroth him to Cersei. Of course his father scoffed at him telling Ned ‘Lions and Wolves don’t mix’. Besides she was the only Lannister daughter, a second son of three couldn’t have her.  
“Ned? What are you doing here?” Cersei stood up off the cot placed against the wall of the cell. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen all stared at the Lord Stark with confusion. Ned noticed all their striking similarities, bright golden hair and brilliant emerald eyes.  
“I’m taking you to Winterfell.” He reached for the lock and opened their cell door. “I won’t let Robert kill you too.” Ned kept his expression cold but Cersei didn’t feel affronted, she rushed to and weaved her arms around his waist. He felt her chest release a deep sigh.  
“Thank you, Ned.” She whispered against his chest. Over the years Ned had craved to at least once feel the exquisite body of Cersei and—though as honorable as he could—he embraced the feel of her.  
Eddard gently wrapped his arms around the slim but curvaceous body of Cersei, “We will leave tonight. I will escort you all to your rooms. Please ready yourselves to leave.” They released their embrace but Ned reached for her hand and led the way out of the dungeon.


	2. Being Pretty Isn't Everything--Cersei

 

The King was an idiot. Cersei knew it, the realm knew it, but not to what extent. Cersei remembered how the fool laughed when he slammed the cell close on her and her angels. Now no one will help her.  
Everyone says beauty could get you a long way and it does but for a cost. Loneliness was insured, at first her twin, Jaime, entertained her but he was her brother. Her feelings for Jaime were confusing, complicated. She knew they were meant to be one but not one romantically, though she did not learn this in till her last pregnancy with Tommen. She hadn’t been with Jaime since. Jaime understood, though hurt, he would never do anything to Cersei to upset her. Even now instead of being called a twice-mad Kingslayer, he obeyed Robert and left to the Wall.  
Now she was being condemned for mistakes made near nine years ago. The cell Robert brought them to had no window and only one putrid smelling cot. Her long nightgown was a great deal unhygienic, her bust was ripped slightly revealing too much cleavage and the hem of her skirt were no longer the rich red but an earthy brown from all the dirt. She didn’t even wear any shoes; her manicured feet weren’t meant for rough ground and they tore at the heel. I’m a queen, no one can say otherwise.  
Cersei was manipulative; it was trait all Lannisters carried. She had manipulated her brother, her husband, the realm but no one really knew her. Once though, she remembered one person who was close to knowing her, the real her. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, a man who once pleaded to become her husband, had once courted her in her teenage years. Now the same man, closest friend to her husband, was the King’s Hand and married with six children of his own. He could have been mine, now he can’t even help me.  
“This is ridiculous I’m the prince, heir to the throne. Mother, do something!” Joffrey, her precious Joff, begged.  
“I can’t. Obviously you can see I am I no position to do anything at all. They will kill me tomorrow and hopefully you too because no one will accept you now.” Cersei felt ashamed that her hatefulness was beginning to show in front of her children.  
“But what of my kittens, they need me, Mommy?” Tommen began to silently whimper. Myrcella reached over to her younger brother and caressed his body to shush the lad. Cersei dreaded the feeling of weakness; all her life she was brought up as a strong woman. If she were born a man she knew she would never be in this position.  
“Hush, children.” Cersei’s head fell into her hands in hopelessness, she was too strong to cry. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”  
Cersei leaned her back against the foul smelling stone cell wall and slid down to the wall. Her three little cubs lay plied up on the small prison cot and evened their breaths.  
“Is that the bloody Queen down here, Wilfred?” A prisoner from the cell across from Cersei’s asked unbelievingly.  
“The proud cunt and her cubs are just mere feet away, Ron.” Cersei could just barely imagine the corrupted grin that the men wore.  
“You forget yourselves, you filthy low breeds. I may be down here with you but I will forever be better than you.” Cersei’s response ended that conversation and the dungeon was silent; as silent as it could be if one ignored the moans of Tommen.  
With no way to tell the time of day, Cersei stayed awake. She kept her eyes on her offspring, watched the rise and fall of their chest, and hoped their lives would be spared. Cersei thought of praying, she had only did it once and luckily it worked. The first was thirteen years ago, while she was in the last moon of her pregnancy with Joffrey; she prayed for him to be normal. She had known of how some Targaryens were born disfigured or dead. So she prayed to the Mother to keep him well, to the Stranger to keep away from Joffrey, and she even prayed to the Old Gods—the gods Ned worshipped. Cersei believed it was the work of the Old Gods that saved her eldest because, regrettably, the Mother didn’t save Cersei’s nor did the Stranger take Tyrion.  
This time she prayed to the Old Gods—the ones she secretly kept to.  
“Mother, how much longer must we stay here, Tommen wants his own bed?” Myrcella, the realm’s princess, sadly asked Cersei. Cersei knew how her children felt about each other. Myrcella and Tommen were obviously closer to each other and sadly this left Joffrey out. This didn’t make anything Joffrey does okay but it was the only way he thought he’ll get any attention.  
“I don’t know, little dove.” Cersei felt her voice crack as she watched her children’s face fall. Tommen was beginning to have silent tears run down his puffy cheeks. Cersei was so immersed in her children’s sadness; she was so very caught off guard when she heard her name be called.  
“Cersei.” She knew that voice almost as fast as she turned her head. She met the cold grey eyes she often dreamed about. Of course he was older from what she remembered, but age fitted him. His darkened hair and close trimmed beard was speckled with silver hair. Eddard’s strong features fell into worry, she noticed, when he looked at her. Cersei wasn’t used to anyone looking at her with worry; usually it’s lust or anger—or both. Ned was a man who always surprised her, first with his strong infatuation with her, then begging for her hand but sadly forced to take the Tully bitch to bed. But lastly, him being here seeing her at her lowest, worst surprised her.  
“Ned? What are you doing here?” Cersei stood up and walked towards the cell gate. Ned seemed to still tower over her from the other side. His large frame hadn’t changed from his youth, his body still in its prime. She had changed though, her hair had gotten longer but her body had altered after three children; still desirable but more womanly than a teen’s.  
“I’m taking you to Winterfell.” Ned unlocked the cell. Winterfell. Cersei thought of the place she’s never been to, a place she wished to call hers. “I won’t let Robert kill you too.” He opened the cell and Cersei felt a rush of gratitude towards the Lord of Winterfell. She rashly placed herself into Ned’s arms. Gracefully, she felt him wrap his arms around her. She felt his hard chest pressed against her and sighed.  
“Thank you, Ned.” Cersei heard herself whisper. It could have been possibly the first time Cersei had ever said thank you to anyone with meaning. Ned had always been good to her; treated her the way she knew she shouldn’t be treated but she loved it, his attention.  
“We will leave tonight. I will escort you all to your rooms. Please ready yourselves to leave.” Ned spoke to all of them; he released Cersei’s and his embrace and held her hand. Cersei looked back at her children, no longer sad and crying, they wore their Lannister face and followed the Northman out of the dungeons.


	3. The Ser… Oh wait I mean… Sandor and the Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Sansa wasn't betrothed to Joffrey, her interaction with the Hound is little. She sees him around, bumps into him often, seen him fight at the Tourney of the Hand.

                                                                  

 

 

“Arya, pick up your clothes!” Sansa couldn’t have been more agitated with her little sister. Unlike Bran, Arya never listened. “Father said to pack we are leaving the capital.”

“I will, okay!” Arya picked up the few articles of clothing and tossed them into her chest. “I just don’t understand why we have to. Why are we taking the Queen?” Arya bent down and sat on the floor with the direwolves. Summer and Nymeria lay at the foot of the bed, while Lady presently stood next to Sansa.

“All I know is Cersei Lannister is no longer the queen.” Sansa was just about to turn ten and three in a couple of moons but she wasn’t all knowing. She definitely looked older and acted older but she was still told what to do and how to do it. She was suppose to be a lady; poised and beautifully. Arya on the other hand never did what she was told and Sansa admired her. Arya wasn’t ugly; she just didn’t try, and she was never punished for doing so like Sansa could have been.

‘Sansa the naïve’, is what everyone thought of her. _But I’m not I can be mature and smart and my own person._

“I’m going to look for Jory, be absolutely ready when I return. We don’t need to upset father.” Sansa looked at Arya and Bran, they both nodded their heads at her as she left the room with lady. It was late after mid-day and Sansa wore her hair down with a grey dress; for simply strolling through the tower it was a fine outfit. Sansa didn’t bother with watching her surroundings, which resulted in her bumping into something large, hard, and alive.

“This is far too many times to call this coincidence, little bird.” The man was Sandor Clegane, sworn shield to Joffrey, Sansa barely had to crane her neck being as tall as she was to the near seven foot tall man. Still he was slightly shorter than his brother, Gregor, who was wild and nearly killed Ser Loras. Luckily, Sandor was there to save the Knight of Roses. That was the first night she had talked to Sandor Clegane, she had only heard things about him and seen his face a few times.

Her heart quickened at his known presence, “I don’t mean to always meet you this way, Ser.” Sansa enjoyed testing the waters with Sandor Clegane; she knew he hated to be called a Ser or lord. Sansa liked when he openly told her everything, the truth, unlike so many others who like to keep her in the dark. Lady also enjoyed his presence.

“Not a Ser, lass.” He told her like it was getting annoying to repeat but grinned anyway.

“Yes, I know but…what should I call you?” Sansa looked down at the ground but then back up at him, knowing he liked eye contact. She moved a piece of her auburn hair behind right ear.

“Just call me: Hound, or Clegane, anything but those stupid titles you love so much.” Sandor was in full armor and looked as fierce as ever but that didn’t scare Sansa. No, instead she stood blushingly in front of him in a dark hall with no one but them two and her direwolf.

“Then shall I call you Sandor? For you’re not a dog and I think we know each other a little more beyond last name basis.” Sansa reached out and felt for Lady’s head.

“Aye, little bird, you can call me that.” He laughed loudly but still Sansa barely understood that there was another meaning to his words. She was just happy he wasn’t in one of his stupors of drunkenness and wasn’t hateful to her.

“Why are you in the Tower of the Hand anyway, Sandor?” Sansa had forgotten all about going to find Jory and now invested all her attention to the scared brute.

“I’m sworn to the Lannister House,” _yes, I know this,_ Sansa thought. “Supposedly your father is taking the lions up North with you all.” Sansa suddenly realized then, that if the Lannisters left Kings Landing that he might have to also go along with them.

“And you wish to come?” Sansa smiled at him.

“Maybe, lass, if I’m needed.” He looked up at the dark stone ceiling then down back at the girl who smiled at him; the only person who has ever smiled at him in well over twenty years.

“Oh, you’ll be needed, I’m sure. You’re so strong; you could fight for the North. You look like a Northman already. I could show all the wonderful things of Winterfell, since you couldn’t come with King.” Sandor’s attempted to grin, but it was quite frightening and anyone but Sansa would be repulsed by it.

“I doubt anyone will be happy to see this pretty face, girl.” Sandor took a hand through his hair and pushed it back, his face on full display.

Sansa reached out and touched Sandor’s scared cheek, “I’ll like to see it.”

Sandor let her hand stay for a couple of more seconds before he touched her hand with his, “Little bird, take me to your father.” He pulled their hands down, slightly squeezed hers and released it.

“Mhmm…” she retook his hand and brought it closer to her body, “He wasn’t there when I left but you could come to our room.”

“Lead the way, little bird.” Sandor let Sansa cling to his large arm as she began to walk leisurely back to her brother and sister. Hopefully, they listened to her and the mess her siblings made won’t embarrass her.


	4. The Golden Stag and his Righteous Ego--Joffrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I did a Joff POV. I also really love this picture of Joffrey, I don't find the actor very attractive and find it really hard that Sansa could have been totally in love with him, but this picture is… it's beautiful.

 

__

_Who is Ned Stark to us?_ Joffrey could barely believe what he was watching. His mother was clinging on to some man’s arms. First he learns the father he craved attention from isn’t really his father. Instead it was his uncle, the one that never spoken to him unless it was his nameday. But now Joffrey was astounded he’s never seen his mother touch a man so intimately.

After the Northman released his mum, Ned Stark dared to tell them that they’re going to Winterfell with him. Then Cersei had the audacity to thank the man. _What the fuck?_

Stark led the Lannister family to the chambers, whispered some words in his mother’s ear then left.

“We’re not going with him are we, mother?” Joffrey scoffed at the idea.

“Why not, we’ve never been to the North before.” Tommen used his annoying baby voice that makes Joffrey’s right eye twitch.

“Yeah, well there are a lot of places we’ve never been. Doesn’t mean we have to go freeze our arses off.” Joffrey dropped his body down on the large lounge chair near the balcony. The whole room was decorated in dark reds—it was his mother’s ‘solar’. The room consisted of lounge chairs and every type of wine under the sun. Myrcella sat behind Cersei’s desk and looked towards her eldest brother. Her emerald eyes glittered at him.

“I think we should go, Eddard Stark can protect us and in addition I think he fancies mother.” Myrcella laughed airily.

“Whether or not you want to, we are going. We needed to leave Kings Landing.” Cersei stood up and walked to the adjourning room that held all her private things. “Myrcella is correct, Ned can protect us. He is now King of the North.” She bent down and opened her chest.

“So we must pack to go, dear brother.” Myrcella walked up to Joffrey and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go Tommen, we have to pack all of our clothes.” Myrcella grabbed her little brother’s hand and ran into another adjourning room.

Ned Stark is a _King_ ; the man doesn’t have a frightful bone in his body. Sure he’s honorable but he wasn’t made to rule; he was better at serving. _He’ll be King of some icebox._

“Why does he want to even help us anyway, mother?” Joffrey stood up and walked over to Cersei.

“He is just a good man, my love.” Cersei didn’t look up at her eldest but stayed focused on packing her warmer dresses. “Why don’t you go and pack, make sure you remember your good tunics.”

“Why did you hug him, mother? How well acquainted are you with him that he’ll come to our aid?” Joffrey was close to yelling at her. His usually pale face blossomed a red fury.

“Maybe there doesn’t always need to be a motive for someone to do something good.”

“Oh, brilliant. Don’t trust anyone but us, huh? Isn’t that what you always told me, so tell me the truth.” Joffrey could not control his angry and began balling up his fist. Cersei noticed and reached out for them.

“I was wrong.” She tried unfurling his fist, it was slightly difficult but finally Joffrey released them. “When I was about your age Ned courted me, we were in love. But father refused to give him my hand because Ned was a second son at the time. Then Robert had his rebellion and Ned had to marry that Tully girl and I married Robert. He used to write all the time before your birth, but we were married and he always wanted to do the honorable thing.” Cersei’s eyes only glistened with tears but after such conditioning she was trained not to cry in front of others.

“Then what will happen to us once we are in Winterfell?” Joffrey was a little stunned at how little he thought he knew of his mother. That she practically had a life before him.

“Eddard will take care of us. We are still highborn people and shall be treated as such. Eddard told me we shall have the best, nothing will change so much.” Cersei tried to sound convincing though everything will change, Joffrey will no longer be the crowned prince nor next King of Westeros.

“And what of you? Will you have to stay locked away in Winterfell?”

“No, I don’t think Ned could not treat his old love so cruelly.” Cersei laughed half heartedly, trying to lift the mood. “Now go pack your things, Ned has three sons, a bastard and a ward you may befriend. Oh, but I think the bastard is on the wall. Anyway, there will be lots of young boys for you to entertain yourself with, maybe learn to wield a sword.” Cersei lead him to the third adjourning room, Joffrey’s room.

Inside was a lavish bed large enough to fit his family plus his father—fake father. He had a floor to ceiling bay window that looked out over the Narrow Sea and if one were to squint their eyes they could pretend to see all of Essos.

It was definitely one of the best rooms in the Red Keep, second to his father’s. _Not my father—King Robert. My father is Jaime Lannister, who is also my uncle and a Kingslayer. My father could have been Eddard Stark, but thank the gods he’s not._ Joffrey didn’t particularly hate Eddard Stark; he just felt that with the amount of power he had, Stark could have done more. Hells, Ned Stark should have taken over the Seven Kingdoms. Now that Eddard will become a King, Joffrey could bet that his reign will be prosperous.

 _If only he didn’t have such stupid heirs._ Joff had met the two Stark girls (and indeed the eldest is pretty) they are both very different from the other girls in the capital. He agreed to be sensible with them but the youngest, Arya, is too wild; nothing like his princess, Myrcella. And then there is Bran: he is intellectual, a very smart boy, but smart people are boring. Joffrey really hoped the other four boys in Winterfell are more entertaining. Perhaps even have similar interests as the used to be Crowned Prince of Westeros: The Golden Stag.


	5. The Drunken King and his Small Council

                                                             

 

“Get me another fucking flagon!” King Robert Baratheon tumbled into the council room where his small council assembled. Drunker as the day gets older; King Robert drops into his council chair.

“Your Grace, may I advise that wine could possibly alter your physical health and we have a war to plan for.” Grand Maester Pycelle pleaded to deaf ears.

“Oh please, Robert can’t be expected to fight in this war.” Lord Renly, the King’s brother, Lord of Strom’s End, and Master of Laws; laughed at his overweight eldest brother.

“Nor you.” Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin, scoffed.

“This is not the time for your petty japes,” Stannis Baratheon, middle child of the Bartheons and Master of Ships and Lord of Dragonstone, interrupted. “We have no Hand or Heirs to the throne, as of now.”

“Speak freely, Stannis, what is on your conventional mind.” Robert sat up straight in his chair. For once in his reign he felt the needed to actually give a useful input in the discussion.

“Seeing as there is no other way, before Jon Arryn died, we discovered an heir for you down at flee bottom.”

“One of my bastards! And what? With no proper training of any type you expect him to just skip right in to be my heir?” Robert was outraged at his brother’s proposal. _A bastard, Ned could be assured to win this war now. Fucking King, he could have taken this goddamn seat when he took Jaime off it._

“The boy wouldn’t need that much training, he’s been apprenticing for Tobho Mott and he’s good. Nicely muscled boy, could even possibly mistake him for Renly.” Stannis never smiled but he did grin when he saw Renly’s face scrunch up in displeasure.

“So he knows his letters, great so does every lordling’s youngest son.” Petyr Baelish’s tone seemed a little peeved at the notion of an heir; most of the group noticed this.

Robert never really enjoyed the company of Littlefinger but more Littlefinger’s whores. Though if there is anything he has learned from the Lannisters its: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

“Fine, bring the boy to King’s Landing. But Stannis, I think you have forgotten of my ward.” Stannis grimaced at the mention of Renly’s ward, Edric Strom; Robert’s bastard that was conceived on Stannis’ marriage bed. “Yes Edric’s young, but he was raised and taught at Storm’s End—much like us. But he is also of nobler blood then your bastard, Gendry Waters. I’ll bring Edric.”

Varys then coughed lightly, the Master of Whispers felt to change the topic, “Now, as that matter is settled. What of House Lannister? You’ve sent Tywin’s heir to the Wall and his daughter and her cubs are fleeing to the North. The imp—I mean Tyrion is no candidate for his father but unless Tywin accepts Cersei and Jaime’s bastards, they are no ally to the Throne.”

“Nor will they fund it, if anything Tywin might even side when the Starks.” Littlefinger smiled sarcastically, “The Throne is six million Gold Dragons in debt; we can’t afford a war unless someone else pays for it and I think we all know who the second richest family of Westros is.”

“They’ll want a marriage. And I have no heirs.” Robert finally felt the weight of being King now then in all of the decade he had been.”

“We’ll have to legitimize your bastards, Your Grace,” Maester Pycelle spoke up, “The known ones at least. Gendry Waters, Edric Storm, and Mya Stone. Three; two of which at good age.”

“The Tyrells are wealthy, but their heir, Willas, is crippled, Garlan is married to a Fossaway, and Loras wishes to be a knight. That leaves Magarey, lovely as a rose and ready to marry.” Renly informed the group of the heirs of House Tyrell.

“Mya could marry the cripple and either Gendry or Edric the Rose.” Robert voiced out what everyone already thought of. Unknowingly to him, everyone in the room hoped one of his bastard sons could do a lot more than what their sire had done for the realm. Robert’s reign and legacy rests on them.

Robert took another large drink from his chalice. He could hardly begin to understand how the man he had been closest to all his life now rejected everything about him. _And stole my wife._ Robert began to think of how he must not have known much about Ned; if his leaving became a surprise.

Nobody ever thought that the cold Lord of Winterfell could become angry. Eddard Stark’s outburst in the throne room was so out of character that most of the small council did not have the temerity to then follow Lord Stark out of the throne room.

Varys, in fact, who knew supposedly everything but even this came unexpected.

“I had no hint that Lord Stark was in such a close relationship with Cersei, Robert?” Renly looked around the room for anyone who could give him an answer.

Everyone was silent and looked everywhere but at Renly, in till Robert huffed, “He wanted to marry her when we were younger.”

“Marry her! Marry Cersei Lannister?” Renly scrunched up his eyebrows in question. This was new news to Petyr Baelish as well.

“Yes, but her father said no, and he married Catelyn Tully. He was fucking mad when he had to come to our wedding, he didn’t talk or send letters to me for a couple of years. Cersei never talked about him; well not to me at least. She didn’t even want him to become my Hand, how was I supposed to know the fucking whore was still involved to Ned!”

“Well she’s your wife, for one,” Stannis scoffed at his brother, “For Gods sakes Robert, she had three kids and not one was yours. Now she’s off with the damn King of the North!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone understands the politics of this chapter, Lannisters usually pay for everything but now that they're gone, Tyrells are the next richest family.


	6. The Wolf-Bitch and the Boy Who Sees Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Bran

 

                                                         

 

 

“Why are they coming with us?” Arya looked at her father. They were situated in the large quick made camp for the trip to Winterfell. She looked over at the large tent that housed the disowned Lannisters. What annoyed her the most was the way her sister stood in front of the tent conversing in her sing-songy voice with that giant, ugly brute. Sandor Clegane was harsh to look at, even Arya who was often called horse face looked like a ray of sunshine next to him.

“Cersei and her children are coming because I am going to be King and Robert treated her wrongly.” Ned was sharpening his Valerian long sword, Ice. He looked up at his daughter then over to the tent where he saw the Hound grinning and Sansa giggling. He looked back up at his youngest daughter, she was wearing squire clothes and at her hip was a skinny sword she named Needle. The differences between the two girls were obviously great. Arya wishes to defend herself and Sansa likes to be protected by someone else.

“Okay, who cares? Sansa is over there laughing as if the Hound was some damn mummer! Lannisters are from the Westerlands, they are not from the North!” She yelled and stormed away from her father. Nymeria followed her mistress.

“Watch your tongue, girl!” Ned yelled after her but didn’t bother to follow her. Bran, who was seated some feet away under a tree petting his direwolf (he had decided to name Summer), watched his family converse.

“She’s right, what will everyone think bringing Lannisters to Winterfell?” Bran spoke, he raised himself off the ground to go look for his sister, Arya.

When he found Arya, she was wielding her sword at some poor tree. Muttering of how stupid Sansa was and how Lannisters cannot be trusted.

Bran rolled his eyes and reached over and pulled on her shoulder gently. Arya, stunned by an intruder, swiftly turned and cut Bran’s cheek with the sword.

“Oh, fuck!” she swore loudly. “Bran, I didn’t see you. You shouldn’t sneak up on people, you know, could have gotten your eye.” She raised her eyebrows and smirked. Arya was always such a violent girl.

“An apology would be more fitting, you tyrant.” Bran grinned at her and touched his cheek. It was beginning to bleed and drip down his chin.

“Fine, I’m sorry.” She looked down at her shirt and ripped a piece of the bottom off. “Here.” She placed it on his cheek.

“What are you doing out here?” Bran asked while she wiped his face.

“Well, I looked for Mycah but I couldn’t find him. I didn’t want to go back to camp because everyone was being stupid.” She finished cleaning the cut and threw the used cloth on the ground.

“No one is stupid, you’re just being dramatic.”

“Dramatic! Father is bringing Lannisters into our home! Have you met Joffrey? He is a right arse. And Myrcella and Tommen are always in another world; airy the two. What would mother think, bringing that woman to Winterfell. And don’t get me started on the fit mother will have when she learns Sansa has taken a liking to that dirty Hound. A wretched man, mother will surely disown Sansa now.” Arya took Needle and swung at some helpless branch.

“Well don’t hurt nature over it. True mother won’t like having Lannisters in Winterfell but they were going to have their heads chopped off by Robert Baratheon. And who cares if Sansa likes Clegane. He’s twice her age and a great deal below her; we are princes and princesses now. Clegane is no one; he’s here to fight for the North. Not marry the Northern Princess. But… you never know what may happen.” Bran sat in the grass and laid his head back. He was parallel to the late day sky and stared forward looking at the beginning of a starry night.

Arya didn’t say anything at first but laid down next Bran. They were silent for a long while. Arya finally spoke when the sky had gone completely orange, as the sun was to set somewhere behind the trees.

“But he’s ugly and she’s…Sansa pretty.”

“That doesn’t matter in love. Sansa is finally growing up and realizing that faces don’t always match the personality. Take Joffrey for example.” Bran smiled at his sister. Silence filled the space again but Bran heard the soft steps of two large direwolves, most likely Nymeria and Summer.

“What about father, why does he spend so much time with Cersei Lannister? She even calls him ‘Ned’ only mother and the king and uncle Benjen call him that.” Arya was legitimately confused, her father never spent so much time with someone out of his family before. He even smiled and laughed with her.

Bran on the other hand had spent so much time in shadows he heard of rumors of his father, rumors of when his father was just a green boy.

“I have something to tell you Arya, if you promise not to make a fuss of it.” Bran looked wildly in her eyes. She nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes I promise. Tell me.” She rolled over on to her stomach and looked at him. Her untamable hair frenzied around her face but her grey eyes stood out in the mess. Bran truly believed his sister would grow into a beauty.

“I’ve heard some of our men talk of how father never wanted to marry mother.”

“Well, yes I know this, because mother was Uncle Brandon’s betrothed.” Bran gave a nod of assent to what Arya was saying.

“Yes but there is another reason.”

“What? What’s the other reason, Bran?”

“Don’t do anything dishonorable, Arya.” Bran warned her.

“I won’t, I promise. Now tell me why father didn’t want to marry mother.”

“He was in love with Cersei Lannister.” Bran sprouts out quickly waiting for his sister’s response.


	7. The Wanting Queen and the Neddy King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my title has a pun in it, acknowledge it. ;)

 

                                              

“Your grace, how do you fair?” Lord Stark entered Cersei’s tent alone. He had seen her children leave a while before so he waited and came.

“Considering how you’ve been treating me: quite well.” Cersei was wrapped in what she thought was a robe, but even less. “I had just finished my bath, Ned, please forgive my appearance.”

Eddard sat in a nearby chair in the large circular tent. He couldn’t help himself but stare at her as she walked towards him. Her feet were still bare and so were her legs up to a little above her knees.

Her skin wasn’t milky white like Catelyn’s but toned and sun kissed. Her golden hair was knotted up to avoid getting wet; it gave Ned the access to look at her slender neck and perfect jaw structure. Much like her cheekbones; her face was immaculate.

“Cersei, you would be treated with much more when we are in Winterfell.” He spoke to her as she came to stand right in front of him. Her stomach was aligned with his eyesight, so he looked up at her awaiting green eyes.

“Ned do you still think of me as we were back before we were married?” Cersei put her delicate hands on his face covering his ears. She had still thought of him that way, especially recently now that she can have it.

“I haven’t stopped, Cersei. You are the one and only woman I have wanted.” Cersei knew he told the truth, that he couldn’t lie. She crouched down and kissed his lips. She remembered how passionately he used to kiss her in the gardens of King’s Landing.

She moved her hands behind his head to bring him closer to her. Eddard’s own hands were left to explore the womanly body Cersei had grown in the years.

“Ned, I wish to have you to myself tonight.” Cersei mumbled in his ear as he kissed down her throat. “And all of the ones after.”

“I am already tied to someone else.” He mumbled against her chest bone. Ned felt a sense of pulling back. To stop before he dishonored his wife once more. His thoughts considered his wife’s honor but his primal needs wanted Cersei. His heart longed for Cersei’s.

“You have already done your duty to her. You gave her five children, three sons and two daughters. You have completed your duty to her; she is a lady of a noble home and has duties of her own to be considered.” Cersei continued to undress Ned. “You’re mine now. Let me have you, Eddard, it won’t be honor that holds us together. I love you and I want you now.” After his tunic was removed, Cersei led him over to the bed he specially bought for her and laid him down on his back.

“You will have your own tower at Winterfell, Cersei. And anything else you desire.” Ned looked into her eyes, pleased with her confession of love.

Cersei just laughed happily and sat upon his hips. She kissed his lips; “ I only want you at the present time. So give me what I want, Ned.” He laughed with her and proceeded with pleasing his love.

That night, Ned did not leave Cersei’s tent and it didn’t go unnoticed. His men were indecisive on how they felt. Lord Stark was the most honorable man they knew and he openly loved someone other than his wife. They weren’t feeling anger or disappointment towards their liege lord; they were feeling a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

Though the men noticed and observed they didn’t speak a word of it. They saw how enraged young lady Arya was with the company of Lannisters. Watched as Lady Sansa spent the days in the Hound’s unfortunate presence. And occasionally spotted young Lord Bran hiding under trees or petting his large direwolf.

They heard the night adventures of the former queen and Lord Stark and then after the quiet night of the Riverlands. What they weren’t aware of—because they were asleep—was the awakening of the next morning.

“I won’t let you go a second time, Ned.” Cersei was laid upon the Northman’s chest. She traced her fingers lightly up his fit torso.

“There’ll be no need to.” Ned whispered in her honeyed hair. “There is only the problem of my wife, Catelyn.” Eddard sighed.

“Well you know what I would do but—” Cersei began in a light voice.

“Yes, I know very well what you would do and it’s out of the question.”

“But! You will win this war, become King and either divorce her—which I wouldn’t recommend because your cause would definitely need the Riverlands—or marry me as well.” Cersei didn’t like the later in any particularity, she would rather go with her first instinct. Disposing of that worthless Tully bitch wouldn’t be that hard, maybe the Tears of Lys or a run in with the Hound. But she knew Ned wouldn’t agree, although he held no love for Cat, she bore him all his children except one. Which Cersei had heard Cat held a deep hatred for Jon Snow, she sympathized but Cat needed to learn to build a bridge and get over it.

“Have two wives, like the Targaryens?” Ned was contemplating the idea. Of course, he would rather divorce Catlyn but the old gods didn’t do that.

“Well yes, we’ll need her father considering mine probably won’t switch sides in till the last minute like Robert’s Rebellion. I don’t think we should get married in till you’re king.” Cersei voiced her opinions to him under the still tent.

“I agree, though I hate to.” Ned started to play with her golden tresses. “You would be better at making war decisions than Cat as well. So I think, before the announcement of our engagement, you should be made Master of Laws. To help my men trust you, and to keep you close with reason.”

Cersei laughed and leaned up to look Ned in the face, “I’ll be anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter is so cute, like, i wrote it and i reread it and was like 'awww!'. so i hope you enjoyed.


	8. The Protective Dog and Singing Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor, baby!!!

 

 

 

Sandor Clegane was strolling along the outside perimeter of the camp enjoying the night. His right hand was encased around a flagon of Dornish red wine. He was the only Lannister man that had come with the queen and her children. _Well not the queen anymore, more like the Northern King’s whore._

He took another swig of his wine and looked up at the starry night; he could name a few constellations but only enough to help if he were lost. _Just a bunch of little lights in the night sky: useless. Something little birds enjoy to chirp at._

At the thought of little birds, he remembered an earlier conversation he had with the eldest Stark girl. She had inquired him on his thoughts of war. He had told her that little ladies shouldn’t worry of such things.

“Keep to your songs girl, that’s all you think of anyway.” Sandor scoffed lightly at her.

“That’s unkind, Sandor, I do not think of only songs… I sing them.” Sansa laughed a melodious tone that caused Sandor to cringe in delight. Everything about the red headed girl enticed him.

The only thing that made him escape the thoughts of Sansa was the noise of a releasing crossbow. He made his way towards the sound and came upon Joffrey. As usually the boy was smirking but at what concerned Sandor. At the boy’s feet was a heaving hare; brown and bushy, the animal bleed onto the darkened earth. The image made him think upon his older brother, Gregor, who had also enjoyed watching little birds—but more likely compared to Joffrey’s way of watching them: dead.

“What are you doing, boy? You plan to skin and eat that?” Sandor controlled his slurring but leaned up against a tree beside him.

Joffrey had not known of Sandor’s presence in till then and turned quickly, “That’s none business, now is it.  You’re no longer my sworn shield, more like that Stark bitch’s.” Joffrey raised his crossbow over his shoulder in a less than threatening way. “So run away now before I pierce your skull with one of my arrows.” Sandor could understand why Joffrey might be a little more than upset to find out his uncle is his father and that he will no longer become a King but the little shit had crossed the line at threating Sandor. Or Sansa.

“You’ll do no—” Sandor might’ve hit the boy if he hadn’t heard the shouts from the camp. He and Joffrey ran towards the tents but stopped behind a bush when they saw Baratheon horseman fighting Stark’s. Sandor stared for a second in till a steel sword came swinging down in front of him. He reacted quickly and unsheathed his sword. He tried to concentrate on the boy attacking him, he wanted to end the fight quickly but couldn’t seem to find a deathly blow to land on the boy. Sandor was finally able to stick his sword into the chest of the boy and pull out before another sword came flying his way. The boy dropped to the ground and unfortunately had to bleed to death, painfully, since Sandor couldn’t end his life quick. He killed the man and more after, the few Baratheon men left were killed. Sandor looked for any more threats but lost his concentration when he heard a familiar voice scream.

“Sansa?” he murmured and quickly made his way toward it. He heard her scream again and began for someone to stop.

Sandor didn’t know what was attacking her but whatever it was, was going to die. He came across three men ripping at Sansa’s skirts. Her bodice had already been ripped open and revealed her milky cleavage. Sandor saw red as the men in black and gold disrespected the Northern Princess. In two strong blows, he killed one of the men and attracted the attention of the other two, he grinned sadistically, attacked and killed the men. Sansa was still crying but now in relief, she was shell shocked at what had and could’ve happened.

Sandor crouched down wrapped the little bird in his stained white cloak, “Don’t cry little bird; they’re gone, I’ve killed them.” Sansa still cried but this time clung to Sandor and his cloak. Sandor picked her up and carried her as one would a baby and took her out of the trees. As he walked back he slowed and watched as the Stark clan surrounded him and barked a thousand questions his way. Sansa had already quieted her cries as Sandor carried her in his large, warm arms. Yet she felt him tense when her family bombarded them with questions, she started to cry again hoping Sandor would use it as an excuse to leave.

“Can you shut your mouths, you can ask Sansa all those stupid questions later. Now move so I can take her to her tent.” He moved in between them and went into the girl’s tent.

“Thank you, Sandor.” Sansa clung to him rubbing her face into the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Rats, rats all of them. I only had to show them my face before they pissed themselves in fear.” Sansa couldn’t have a care for his crude language; she had accustomed her mind to know he won’t change with chidings from her.

Sansa pulled her head away to look him straight in the face—scar and molten ear included, “I still give my gratitude to you, I am now in your debt.”

Sandor looked deep in the girl’s lagoon blue eyes and saw sincerity, “You owe me nothing, little bird, but if you want to show your thanks you could do me one thing.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I want you…to give me song.” Sandor knew the girl was practically at his mercy but he asked for what seemed the most appropriate at the time. He knew he might regret it later when he thinks of all the other things he could as for.

“Okay, what song? I’ll sing it now.” Sansa made a small cough preparing herself to sing while still caressed in Sandor’s arms.

“No not now, little bird,” Sandor sat her in her bed gently and pealed the wool blankets open, “Gift me the song when you feel the right of it.” He enveloped her in the blanket and brushed her hair out of her face. “Go to sleep now.” He said to her and made his way to the open flap of tent.

“Goodnight, my Hound.” Sansa called quietly.


	9. The Un-Princess and The Direwolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella POV

 

 

When Myrcella woke from a bump in the carriage with her mother and Tommen; she realized it was because they had stopped.

“Are we here, mother?” Myrcella perked up and leaned forward to look out the small window. But before she could lift the curtain her mother slapped her hand. Myrcella knew what that meant, she was only ten but more was expected of her. She was the princess of Westros, the most highborn girl that lived. She was mature and educated; she should know that she was to wait in till a guard opened the door for her, not open the curtain like some poor commoner. Though Myrcella could think of one highborn girl who could act as wild as she pleased: Arya Stark. Arya was a year older; yet every time Cella walked passed her or eaten at the same table with her she felt the need to reprimand Arya on her behavior.

Cersei looked at her daughter and hoped she understood her mistake, “Yes we should be, Ned said it was only going to be a few hours ride today.” As if on cue, the door opened to reveal one of Lord Stark’s men, Jory, mayhap.

“We have arrived, my lady.” He greeted Cersei and out reached his hand for her; Myrcella was next then small Tommen.

Myrcella noticed the large group of people waiting in front of what she believed to be Winterfell. A woman with long red hair like Sansa’s bowed in front of Lord Stark. At her feet was a small boy of four with wild eyes and the same curly red hair.

Myrcella watched as a few whispered words were exchanged, when she felt a hand touch her midriff. Considering Tommen was standing in front of her she had to guess it was her eldest brother. Joffrey had not spoken to her much on the travel north. A couple muttered hellos and kisses on the cheek but that was all. He never really touched her unless he was in a more pleasant mood.

“Do you enjoy the snow, brother?” she placed her hand on top of his and leaned back on him.

“I may begin to enjoy the feeling of the crisp cold.” Joffrey answered lowering his chin on her head, he often liked to play and twist her golden tresses between his fingers.

“That is good because we will most likely live here for a very long time.” Myrcella smiled but kept her eyes on the large crowd in front of her. She scoped for nothing in particular in till her eyes landed on another head of auburn hair. Myrcella mused for a second on who that could be he was too old to be Brandon Stark—who had traveled with her—so she was left to believe it was the Stark heir: Robb. Named after her assumed father, the boy was of good stature and handsome.

“Are all their children red headed?” Joffrey questioned which Myrcella thought was hypocritical considering others used to say the same about them and their golden hair.

“The Tully seed is strong.” Cersei muttered in disdain but they all heard.

“Arya isn’t red headed.” Tommen projected his voice to his pride.

“True but she is the runt of the pack.” Joffrey smirked.

“No she’s not, she’s fun!” Tommen argued back, Myrcella wished her younger brother had a little more sense then to start a quarrel with Joffrey.

“She is what ever I say she is, do you see how she acts, nothing like Myrcella. That Stark girl is rabid and you should not associate yourself with her.” Joffrey confronted him, Myrcella looked up at her mother to see if she was going to say anything but her eyes were glued on something else. Cersei had been seething, she watched as Catelyn Tully acted the dutiful wife who greeted her missed husband home.

Myrcella sighed as she watched the Starks welcome each other home and then at the Lannisters, who fumed with jealousy and argued amongst each other. She wondered what her grandfather could be doing; he loved them yet he had not sent any letters to her. She wondered if it much colder on the wall. She imagined her dwarfed uncle laughing in hysteria on what had become of his family who constantly laughed at him.

Myrcella stopped thinking when her mother began to walk over to Lord Stark after he called her over. He introduced her to his lady wife and then his sons who had not come to King’s Landing. She then introduced her cubs in order of birth. Joffrey had released Myrcella’s waist when they followed her mother. Myrcella had bowed when her mother said her name but stared straight at Robb Stark as doing so. She had no idea on why she was being so straight foreword with the young man but something allured her to him.

His blue eyes weren’t like his family’s; his were mischievous and playful. His eyes couldn’t possibly display the real emotion Myrcella’s green ones hid. She doubted he could ever feel the shame and humiliation her family felt she envied that of him, of his naivety. Yet she didn’t want him to feel like he did, she didn’t want anyone to.

Next to Robb was a handsome, smirking young man with a confident aura. He didn’t seem to understand nor care for the serious of their arrival. It was a relief to Myrcella to think that one person—at least one person—did not feel the need to gawk and gossip of the Lannister misfortune. He was Theon Greyjoy, Lord Stark’s ward from the Iron Islands.

Myrcella watched as he leered at her mother, he seemed comfortable here at Winterfell. Myrcella knew he thought he was part of the Stark family, though really he was a captive, taken from his true family. Myrcella knew she would be full of resentment if she were separated from her family.

“Cersei, come I’ll show you were your rooms will be.” Lord Stark ended the brief awkward introduction and offered his arm for Cersei. An odd silent understanding came over the Lannister cubs, when they realized it wasn’t an open invitation.


	10. The Rose and the Stag…and the Wench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras and Renly and a little Brienne.

 

“You sound as if you were getting married.” Loras Tyrell lounged on the arm of the chair in the corner of Lord Renly’s chambers.

“Only if I were marrying you.” Renly teased in a loving voice. He sat on his bed reading from a pile of scrolls his squire brought to him that morning.

“You laugh now,” Loras raised off the chair and walked over to the front of the large oak bed with green spread sheets. “Margery agreed to marry one of the bastards and that is well and all, but if you were to marry her than we could still be together.” Loras tried to stay calm; he didn’t want to ruin any of his lover’s things—knowing Renly loved to purchase expensive things.

“There is no need to worry, Loras. Once they agree on who will marry who, I will resign my position in the small council and we’ll go back to Storm’s End.” Renly had it all worked out, Bartheons and Tyrells allied and Lannisters disgraced. He skimmed over the letter from Edric’s caretaker who had written they would arrive in a week at most.

“But you will still have to take a wife.” Loras gripped the bedpost and frowned his eyebrows. Renly looked up and smirked.

“How many times must I say ‘I will not marry anyone’ before it gets through your thick skull? It must be all the practicing in this summer heat that’s melted your brain to mush. One of the bastards will be my heir” Renly closed his letter and stood off the bed.

“You’ve made no such notion…no don’t try to ease your way to me with seduction,” Loras put his hands in front of him pushing away at Renly’s chest, “What was on letter?” the Knight of Flowers averted his attention on the discarded letter on the bed.

Renly didn’t bother answering and rather just pass the letter to the young man. Loras read over it, taking the time to read each word in the correct order and making facial movements at the right time.

“I can’t imagine my six and ten year old sister marrying a two and ten year old boy. No offence, Renly, but I hope she’ll marry the other one.” Loras shrugged his eyebrows.

“What but Edric’s a good boy?” Renly made a face of disbelief.

“Yeah, a good little boy, he probably hasn’t even—” Loras stopped mid-sentence when three loud knocks came from the door. Loras sighed annoyed that someone was interrupting the only time of the day Loras could spend with Renly in privacy. He went to unblock the door, as Renly fixed himself to look a little more presentable.

On the other side of the door was a large, ungainly, short blonde haired wench. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Brienne the Beauty.” Loras mocked her the turned his head over his shoulder. “Don’t bother looking your best Renly it’s only the wench.”

Brienne only sneered and pushed the shorter man out of her view. She couldn’t possibly understand why her beloved, Lord Renly, would keep such company.

“I’m here to escort my Lord to the feast for your family, Tyrell.” Brienne looked at the boy once more than averted them to Renly—who was still turned from he, bent over looking inside a chest. She studied him, watched as he chose the perfect tunic to match his comely features. Brienne always watched, and on occasion he had watched her too, she thought. _When I fight and win. When I escort him places and compliment on his leadership skills._

“Oh, yes the Feast. Just give me a minute Brienne I need to change into something more…fitting.” Renly let out a little laugh and Brienne nodded and exited the room to wait outside the door. Though she noticed Loras Tyrell didn’t follow her, she was always questioning what right the Tyrell boy had to shadow he Lord. _So what he squired for Renly, that doesn’t mean he should be in the room Renly changed in._

Loras was beyond annoyed with that damn Tarth girl and her very noticeable fancy for Renly.

“Loras you’re being a little too dramatic, there’s no need to be jealous of Lady Brienne.” Renly laughed at Loras.

“I’m not jealous, I know you don’t like girls but even if you did I still wouldn’t be jealous, your Lady Brienne is far from ever being something I’m jealous at.” Loras scoffed at Renly who only rolled his eyes.

“What ever you say, Loras” Renly walked over and grabbed Loras from behind. “You know I have no interest in anyone else—man or woman, I only want you.” Renly kissed Loras’ neck and released him to walk to the door. Loras trailed behind him as Brienne walked the to the dinning hall.

“This will be lovely, Gendry and Mya are already here. They will mingle with Willas and Margery.” Renly rubbed his hands together in a way only Petyr Baelish could perfect.

“I thought you wanted Edric to be with Margery?” Brienne noted her Lord’s excitement over the possibly couples.

“Oh, no I need Edric to be my heir, only wanted to start strife with Stannis. He is always so amusing when he is angry.” Renly smiled and flashed his perfect teeth, which captivated his company.

Loras noticed Brienne watching Renly (again) and seethed. The stupid wench better find her own man.


	11. The Wife and her Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn Stark, or maybe Tully

 

Catelyn sat to the right of her lord husband staring down at the warm Northern food on her plate. The mutton was the same as it was six and ten years ago, but her taste was affected by the company she kept. Her little Rickon sat to the right of her and her sweet Bran sat in front of her, both were entertained and amused by the company. The golden guests had made their selves at home here at Winterfell and Ned had easily welcomed them. The all stayed in a private tower on the east wall—close but a distance away from Winterfell’s main rooms, her room.

Catelyn had to constantly hide her eye rolls from her family, who were at the moment—and every moment since they came—entranced by the Lannisters. Cersei sat at the left of Eddard and whispered in his ear, gently laying her lips on his face with each word. Her precious eldest daughter was keeping a shadow of the Hound, who was at her beck and call. Even Robb and Theon tried being friendly with the disowned princes and princess of Westeros. Her whole family (except dear Arya) was being deceived by the Lannisters; she couldn’t believe Ned could forget her sister’s accusations about the Lions killing Jon Arryn. _Now he won’t even explain what he thought of being them here. He could have easily carried them off to Casterly Rock._

Another thing she couldn’t wrap her head around was his failure to do his duty to follow his king. Instead he rejects Robert and starts a war; his honor was washed away in the narrow sea the minute he stormed out of the Red Keep.

“Mother, can I be excused?” Arya grumbled standing from her seat, she seemed to be the only person to have the same views as Catelyn.

“Yes, you may go and prepare for the night.” Catelyn excused her and wished she could leave as well.

“Do you also wish to go, wife?” Ned turned to look at her; it was unlike Catelyn to let anyone leave the high table early. “You seem tired.”

Cat’s eyes glittered with a fire that Eddard ignored. “Yes, you are correct husband, I am very tired and I will go but I request your company this evening.” Cat stood up from her chair and looked down at him. Ned’s face was stone, emotionless—like it always was with her.

“Fine, I shall visit you this evening.” Cat nodded and looked behind him at Cersei who had listened to the whole conversation, rolled her eyes and sipped from her chalice.

Catelyn took her leave and walked to her chambers, she had the luck not to bump into anyone. Everyone (including the servants) was at the feast. Cat entered her room feeling heavy; she had patiently waited for her husband’s return only to be filled with disappointment at the guests he brought. _Guests, they are not guests. They live here now; they’ve assimilated themselves in my home._

Catelyn had always kept hope that her husband would feel love for her beyond kinship. She had felt love for Brandon and her heart was crushed when he died. But then she married Ned, who barely wanted to consummate their marriage. She was lucky she was blessed with a child each time he did his husbandly duty.

Cat sat in one of her chairs by the balcony where a flagon of wine sat in a glass vase. She poured her self a cup and kept drinking in till her body felt numb. She enjoyed the numbness that overwhelmed her sorrow. Catelyn sat silently thinking about how she had come to care for Eddard and how he didn’t for her. She remembered birthing her first son, Robb, while Ned was gone. She naively thought of how happy Ned would be to find his young wife and heir waiting for him at the gates of Winterfell. Only probably was that Ned was also bringing home a surprise; Cat had despised Jon Snow ever since then.

A knock on the door interrupted Cat’s musing. She stood up and brushed her dress and hair down, she went to the door thinking it was Eddard but it wasn’t. It wasn’t much of a surprise to Catelyn but still hurt.

“M’lady, woulda like yer bath tonight?” a young girl, maybe a year or two older than Sansa, asked.

“Yes, bring it immediately and send someone to help me undress.” Cat thought that since Ned had come now he probably wasn’t going to come till much later.

Three maids came with a large tub and proceed to fill it with warm water. One of the maids helped Cat unlace her dress then her bodice and corset. The girl unbraided Catelyn’s northern hairstyle and led her Lady to the water. Once Cat was in, she bided the girls away and soaked in the water. The lavender and rose oils perfumed the air. She had known that men liked nice smells, found some even enticing, yet Ned never complimented her on how she smelled or looked unless he had to.

He didn’t go out of his way to buy her anything nice or lavish her with things she liked. The children were the ones he loved the most.

When Catelyn felt ready she got out of the tub and dried her self off before putting on a silk robe. She poured herself another cup wine, when the door knocked again. Assuming it was the maids again she walked to the door and opened.

Eddard stood at his wife’s door and sighed, she had opened the door damp and only wearing a nightly robe. He hoped she didn’t have the intention of bedding. He only had those feelings for Cersei and didn’t want Catelyn to think otherwise.

“What did you wish to talk to me about?” Ned walked into the room and sat in the chair by the balcony.

“I want to know what you are thinking! Bringing Lannisters here, though they are accused of killing my sister’s husband—your friend, Jon Arryn.” Catelyn took another sip of her wine. “Now they are housed in their own tower, and you! You, spend all your time with that woman!”

“Is that what this is about, I’m only making sure she and her family are happy with their new arrangements. Cersei and her family did not kill Jon Arryn, that’s a matter all in it’s own but I have a bigger agenda. Obviously, you have forgotten that I have started a war! Now, I have mistakenly let you complain about Jon, my blood, but you are going to far in attacking Cersei. Why don’t you do your _duty_ and handle the domestic issues of Winterfell—and please don’t bother me for selfish reasons. I have done my duty to you as a husband and soon I will be a king, I need you to just listen to what I say and not act like you’re better than everyone!” Ned raised his voice at her for the first time and Cat felt the numbing affect of the wine to simmer.

“Do not have the audacity to speak to me like I am the only one to do wrong! Our children have come back to me different in the worst way possible; Arya has short hair and is waving around a sword like she’s not a highborn lady, Bran is quiet all the time—not like the boy who enjoyed playing and climbing, let’s not forget Sansa! Oh, no, my lovely daughter infatuated with a dog! A man so below her, he’s not even acceptable to be on the bottom of her shoes!” Catelyn quickly finished the last of her wine and placed it down with a heavy hand.

“Catelyn, I command you now to stop speaking. I have had enough of this conversation. Take yourself to bed. It seems you’ve taken it upon yourself to drink a whole flagon of Dornish Red.” Ned stood up and walked to the door, he turned to watch Catelyn sit on the bed (red faced and heated), he turned back and walked out the room.


	12. Lord Snow and the Oathbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile but here's the chapter
> 
> Jon Snow POV

Jon stood behind all the men who waited for the arrival of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer and sister-fucker. Jon couldn’t think it possible for a person to feel sexual desire for their kin, but Jaime proved him otherwise. But altogether Jon stood behind; he didn’t feel comfortable with the coming of the Lannister. He had to already suffer the company of murderers and rapist, now to add to the long list was an oathbreaker.

_Now there will be two Lannisters on the Wall._ Most men seemed to have forgotten that the Imp still resided here, as small as he was he still had a large personality. The man drank wine and read books and complained of the lack of beautiful women.

Women were the source of Jon’s problems. Starting with the unknown woman of his mother and then the woman would rather hang herself than to name him hers. This may all be true, but Jon didn’t think all women to be cruel. Arya wasn’t yet a woman but she wasn’t cruel…to him. Jon had heard that they call the ex-queen cruel. Cersei Lannister was supposed beautiful and cruel; she had seduced her own brother and his father, Eddard.

“Jon, look. There’s the golden bastard.” The fat boy, Samwell, tapped him. He pointed a fat finger towards the gate of Castle Black.

Jon tried to control himself from looking, told himself he didn’t care to see the disgraced man.

But he looked anyway and saw the Imp hugging his brother. There were other man as well but they carried carts of food for a couple of months.

Jaime Lannister could have looked a great deal younger with just a few stokes of a blade to the scruff that had grown along his chin. A warm bath might have helped the stench that clung to him, but most men here smelled of meat gone bad weeks ago. His hair was wiry with grease and dirt; it looked almost brown instead of its supposed golden.

“This is ridiculous.” Jon muttered to himself but Sam heard him.

“What is, Jon?” Sam followed the dark haired boy that had turned around to leave the crowd.

Jon looked at the fat boy and seethed, “This is; this whole thing! My uncle is somewhere behind the wall risking his life for what? A kingdom run by some fat man who enjoys rutting into anything with a cunt or some whore queen who seduces good man like my father to escape her death?”

“Now Jon, we protect the Wall for the little people; for the commoners who farm and raise small children. The rich have plenty to protect themselves with: castles, guards, their cunts.” Sam explains to Jon—who began to calm down.

“Whatever. All I know is I don’t want to be anywhere near that Kingslayer.” Jon walked off to practice his swordsmanship with the other crows.

 

The next morning, while Jon was gathering food for Ghost he had made the mistake of walking into the common hall last.

“Oh, Lord Snow, so glad you could make it,” Ser Alliser Thorne said, “because of your lateness, I think it should be you to teach our newest crow the ways of Castle Black.” His cold voice annoyed Jon and his black eyes always pierced into Jon cruelly.

Lord Mormont nodded his head slightly in agreement, “That might work, let the old newcomer lead the new newcomer.” The Lord Commander feed the raven on his shoulder some corn.

Jon knew better than to even speak up, he gave a nod of respect and sat down next to Tarly. He saw the Lannisters sat in the corner whispering unknown things. They would grin often and frown the other times.

“Stop staring at them, Jon.” Sam nudged them. Jon looked away quickly and ate his food with the other crows.

“I wasn’t staring.” Jon swallowed his food, “It’s just...why do bad things happen to me?” Jon mumbled the last part.

After the meal Jon stood up and began walking towards the doors, when a hand grabbed his right shoulder. Jon’s body was turned to his offender and he came face to face with his new trainee.

“Get your hand off me.” Jon pushed Jaime’s hand off of him.

Jaime grinned cruelly, “Calm down. If I wanted to cause you harm, I would have done it by now.”

Jon sneered at him, “Try and I’ll have my direwolf tear your hands off.”

“Is that how brothers speak to each other? Maybe just brothers of the Night’s Watch.” Jaime let go of Jon’s shoulder.

Jon walked ahead to the courtyard where some of the crows trained with dull swords.

“You’re not going to try to spar with me, are you?” Jon didn’t look to see if Jaime wore his golden smirk, he could hear it.

“Why would I do that? Everyone in the realm knows about you and your…conquests.” Jon stopped walking he sighed, “I’m not sure what they want me to show you. You should just pledge to the Night’s Watch now, it’s not like you have a choice.”

Jaime tightened his cloak, unused to the cold, and looked up at the sky, “I do have a choice. I could take the Black or die.” Jaime remembered waking up in the middle of the night by the Kingsguard and dragged into the throne room. His sister, Cersei, had already been there kneeled on the ground her lip bleeding. King Robert had then made Jaime confess to crimes he had committed years before with Cersei. Robert wanted to kill him—but the Hand (Lord Stark) stopped him. The next morning he was on his way to the Wall.

“And how is that?” Jon looked at him, “You’re forced to work here and Lady Lannister is with my father, in Winterfell.” Jon wasn’t trying to add salt to the wound but he was interested and what Jaime thought of his sister now.

Jaime looked disgusted for a moment. He looked down at his feet, boots covered in frost, “Have you ever been betrayed? That’s how I feel.”


	13. The Natural Daughter and the Highgarden Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mya Stone

 

Mya Stone shifted in her dress for the fifth time that evening. She was just as uncomfortable in the dress as she was sitting at the dining table with three Tyrell offspring, two of her baseborn brothers, and Lord Renly Baratheon. Renly and the Tyrells made conversation and little Edric Storm made effort to join in but he didn’t have the wit to keep up with their quips. Mya and Gendry Waters, the brother she had met just a couple of hours ago kept quiet.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she was here, in King’s Landing that is. She had heard previously that Lord Eddard Stark had claimed himself King in the North, but only rumors. Then an envoy came to her with a letter from her Kingly father. He had wanted to see her again to make her a princess, his lawful daughter. She had said no at first, angry that he could hold any notion that she could forgive him for never taking proper care of her. But after long thought, she had remembered when he used to play with her as child and some innocent part of her wanted to be loved by her father. And so, she came to King’s Landing and met two of her brothers.

She sat across from the eldest Tyrell, Willas, who often looked over to her even though she hadn’t spoken. She knew of his crippled leg and felt sorry for him but then stopped because although he is a cripple he is still heir to Highgarden and she had met men with no limbs and not a penny to their name. Her uncle, Renly, spent most of his time soothing their ears to how lovely King’s Landing is and how life as newly appointed royalty shall treat them. Mya didn’t care a bit though, she had rode through Flea Bottom on horseback and it was quite the eyesore. She had tried to finish her plate but the food was heavy and the flavors were so queer to her. She looked once more at poor Gendry and grinned, he was so bewildered by everything around his mouth laid slightly agape.

Mya stood up, meeting eyes once more with Willas Tyrell and breaking it, “Lord Renly, I think I’ll take my leave now. My Lords, my Lady, I bid you goodnight.” Mya didn’t bother to curtsey or wait for their responses, she walked out into the hall.

She knew where her rooms were but she was in the Small Hall and they were far. She had caught eye of the Library. She wasn’t one for reading though, she knew her letters but nothing in the Eyrie was worth her time to read; but still she ventured into the library.

Tall bookshelves towered around her and the room was not so well lit, only a half a dozen candles dispersed. She stood still for a moment to make sure she was the only one in the large room. When nothing moved or made noise she had decided she was alone.

Mya walked in aimlessly trailing her fingers across the binds of the books, they had reminded her mountains. The mountains she grew up with and rode her mules up and down on. One book was book was protruding out from the others, as if it were just recently taken out. She pulled it completely out and read the title, _The Upraises and Downfalls of the Blackfyre Rebellions_.  She leaned her back against the wall and slid down gently, crossing her legs with the book in lap. She skimmed through it at first, not really knowing a thing of these rebellions. She was a royal bastard and had the opportunity to learn some but didn’t bother. She knew of her father’s rebellion and nothing more, what need did she have to know of the past. Yet, she flipped the pages and read through the complex telling of Targaryen history. She was in the midst of reading about Brynden “Bloodraven” Rivers, one of the Great Bastards when she heard footsteps enter the library.

“Who goes there?” She called out and closed the book. She tried to listen but oddly heard three footsteps.

Willas Tyrell peeked out from behind a bookshelf, “Forgive me for interrupting you, my Lady.”

Mya nodded her head and stood up, her hair just covered her eyebrows and the sides of it came past her ears. She had to look up at Willas (not much, but still), he had short brown hair that seemed soft but she wasn’t certain unless she ran her fingers through it for herself.

“There is nothing to forgive. This isn’t my library, and you’re a guest of the king, I’m sure you are allowed to come in here with or without my approval.” Mya moved to put the book away and leave immediately.

“Do you mean to leave, Lady Mya? I don’t wish to put you out of place, in fact I came to see you.” Willas reached out for her hand, “Came to King’s Landing, I mean.”

Mya widened her eyes, “For me, but how did you know I was to be here?” She hadn’t moved his hand out of hers yet, only because the sudden warmth was pleasing to feel.

Willas moved slightly closer to her, “You see, my lady, it is my intention to court you and hopes for marriage.” Willas gently bit his bottom lip as if he was nervous, as though he didn’t say something so bluntly as he just did.

Mya dropped her hand from his. She was surprised really, and it made her think of her Mychel. Mychel Redfort was the man she _loved_ but had left in the Vale, because he hadn’t wished for her to leave and she assumed their relantionship was over the moment she and the envoy left down the Kingsroad.

She knew Willas to be educated and cultured, he could most definitely teach her all the history she would need (like) to know. She looked Willas up and down, her eyes paused a moment on his limp leg, then back to his face. His eyes poured into her, somewhat plain at first but the longer she looked she could see flecks of gold that Ser Loras’ and Lady Margaery’s both held. And she considered it.


	14. The Family and the Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansan. Also there's a part in here straight from GoT, so credits go to GRRM.

 

“I just don’t understand! Why must it be like this?” Sansa slammed her bedroom door behind them, “Mother and her are so frustrating. Can they not just give up already? They’ve lost whatever fight they think they’re in.” She threw her hands up.

Sandor smirked at her, “Don’t take it so personally, little bird. Your mother and sister have a right to be judgmental.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows at him, “Whose side are you on, Sandor? They don’t like you—or any of the Lannisters, for that matter.”

“Are there sides now?” he laughed at her.

Sansa crossed her arms, “Of course there are! Their side—Mother and Arya” Sansa pointed at the firmly closed door that may or may not have Arya standing on the other side of it, “and our side—father, my brothers, the Lannister, me, and you should be.” Sandor laughed some more to which Sansa muttered haughtily at him “traitor”. 

Sandor leaned against Sansa’s bedpost as she made her way to her dresser and started to pull her hairpins out angrily, “I just don’t think it is anything to truly get upset over.” Sandor sighed. “You wouldn’t want to say something you’ll regret to one of them. Arya’s your sister, true she is a right wolf-bitch but she cares for you. Your mother cares for you as well. They’re only upset because strangers have infiltrated their home.”

Sandor inwardly cursed himself for saying something so dramatic as that. What does he know of regret? He hasn’t got a remorseful bone in his body. Well, he didn’t before meeting Sansa Stark.

“But they are being just horrid.” She turned to look at him, her hair now completely loose and free to wildly encircle her face. The loveliest sight, if he ever saw one.

“No, they aren’t, I have horrid family members and I can tell you that yours are a far thing from ever being anything close to nasty.”

“You mean the Mountain?” she asked hesitantly but knew the answer.

“Aye, my brother.” Sandor sat down on her chest that was at the foot of the bed.

Sansa came a little closer, “Did he really do _that_ to Elia Martell?” she pounced on her bed and came up behind him.

“I wasn’t exactly there, you know, but he says he did.” Sandor turned his head to her (which came very close to hers), “Only a monster could confess with triumph over that kind of feat.”

Sansa’s eyes widened a little, “Had he always been like that? Like a monster?”

Sandor nodded, “Ever since he grew taller than my father, he would terrorize everyone in our keep. He would hurt people just for fun, just because he could.”

“Even you?” Sansa found it hard to believe that someone could scare her Hound, he was the strongest, most ferocious man she knew. She saw him fight the Mountain.

“I hadn’t always been this big,” Sandor could imagine Sansa had believed he came out of his mother six feet tall.

“That’s not what I meant.” She said softly.

They were quiet for a moment, which was new for them. Usually when they were together—which was often—there was always someone filling the silence, talking or laughing. It made Sansa slightly nervous of when (or if) he was going to say something. And when he did…well she couldn’t describe her feelings as eloquently as she had just minutes before.

“Obviously he terrorized me too,” he said a little harshly, “You see this face, these scars. I was in no accident, little bird, my brother did this to me.” Sansa cast her eyes away from his, behind him, “No, little bird, look at me. Look at me. I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village below my father’s keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvelous toys. I don’t remember what I got, but it was Gregor’s gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor was five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire. And look at me now; I have no father, no mother, and no sister, all dead. I only have one monster brother.”     

Sansa was crying, streams ran down her face by then, she hadn’t like looking in his eyes then. They were only filled with hurt and pain. Her favorite pair of gray eyes had been through so much suffering and endured it for so long. She had known somehow that she was the first person Sandor had ever told about the true cause of his scars.

“So I know a true monster, and your mother, nor your sister fit the criteria.” Sansa had launched her arms around Sandor’s neck and pulled him to her. She nuzzled his neck and pressed her lips to the nape of it. Her fingers captured some of his long dark locks and she tightened her grasp on them.

“I’m sorry, Sandor, I won’t complain about them anymore.” Sansa shook her head, still pressed against him.

“Oh, you won’t now, just because I told you that awful story?” She nodded.

“You also have me. I’ll always be here for you.” She squeezed him harder.      

Sandor sighed and ran his fingers through her hair. He cursed himself again.


	15. The Defender and the Mentor

Cersei tries her best to stay quiet during Ned’s war council meetings. She really does but as the only southron female in the room, she sometimes feels as though she needs to defend herself and intrude on their conversation. The old Cersei (the one married to fat Robert Baratheon) wouldn’t need to defend herself, she was a Lannister and the queen, and she could do whatever she wanted. Cersei, though, wasn’t the queen (yet) anymore. She was the Master of Laws, which at this moment in time didn’t do much. In fact, Eddard hadn’t named anyone any other title of the Small Council; he just kept a group of advisors.

“Why can’t they just come to us?” Cersei spoke up as the men discussed the best routes their army could travel to fight.

From the look on Maege Mormont’s face, Cersei knew she didn’t like her use of us. “And let them come and knock down our walls while were sleeping, I think not.”

A noise of apprehension tried to dismiss Cersei’s idea but she spoke more, “No, what I’m trying to say is that—in the words of House Stark—winter is coming, and the army that Robert is pulling together will be filled with young men who’ve never lived through winter. It’s most likely they’ll die on their way up here.” Cersei paused to look at Ned to see if she had his approval to continue, “We could have a good fighting area, far but not too far from here to keep lookouts for when they arrive. We’ll have our army march into them before they get too close to Winterfell.”

“Aye, and where do you suppose we have this good fighting area?” the Greatjon spoke condescendingly.

Cersei sneered slightly at him and leaned over the map they were all hovered over, “Here.” She pointed right in the middle of where House Cerwyn and Winterfell lie. “Close but far. We wouldn’t have to worry about deserters because they wouldn’t come to either castles and will probably die in the Godswood. We could light fires and put them out with the water from White Knife River.”

Eddard stood up to stand beside Cersei, “We also wouldn’t have to worry about running out of food or our men freezing.” He let his hand unnoticeably brush against Cersei’s side.

“It’s a fine plan.” Lord Manderly agreed with his King’s idea. Lord Wyman Manderly sat at the end of the table, jolly and fat.

“Of course it is I thought of it,” Cersei smirked and sat down.

 

“I think they are starting to like you.” Ned ran his fingers through Cersei’s hair as they lay in her bed.

“Like me? More like tolerate me.” She rolled over onto her stomach to look at him, “But that doesn’t matter they can hate me and love you.”

“Cersei, I love you enough for the whole North already.” He kissed her cheek.

She smiled at him and laughed. She loved when Ned was being all sentimental with her, he was the only man she knew who could do it so easily.

“Truly, you do?”

“Possibly more.” Ned kissed her shoulder and down her back.

“And if I were with child would you love it.” She looked towards him.

“With all my heart. Are you with child?” Ned had somehow shifted himself to be positioned behind her and kissed her lower back.

“No, I am not.” Cersei tried to not reveal any dejection from her voice.

Ned smirked, “Shall we try then?” he pulled her hips up to his.

“Eddard, we need to get up. It’s almost time for dinner. They will be waiting for you.” She laid kisses on his cheeks and wiggled her hips on him.

He huffed, “Unless I suddenly fall ill and bedridden.” He shifted his hips against hers, “You could be my wet nurse.”  

Cersei lifted herself off the bed and reached for her silken robe that laid over a chair near the door, “As tempting as that sounds, it wouldn’t look good for a new king to be sick at such a fragile time in your reign.” She tied the robe around her and stood by the side of the bed, “Besides, I need to check in on my children. They’re…I highly doubt they’re very comfortable here.”

Ned leaned back on the headboard, “Joffrey might not be, but Myrcella and Tommen are very entertained with Winterfell.”

She hummed with agreement, “They are quite enamored with those direwolves. Joff, though, he needs an activity or something to entertain himself.”

“Perhaps, I might be able to get them a couple of wolf pups.” Eddard suggested.

“I’m not sure, Joff isn’t very good with animals.” Cersei locked eyes with Ned, she frowned a little, “He’s not normal, Ned.” She whispered but he heard her.

“What do you mean, Cersei?” Ned was confused. Truthfully, he hadn’t spent much time with Cersei’s children. He could tell Myrcella was kind girl, Tommen was timid, and Joffrey was—to put it honestly—a brat. But Eddard thought that was normal for a child who grew up with everything handed to him.

“I love my children, Ned—”

“I know you do.”

“It’s just…Joff, he’s not…he not very compassionate.”

“He’s a boy, Cersei, boys aren’t all about feelings and such. Especially not at his age.” Eddard tried to reason.

“It’s not that, Ned, he likes to hurt things, people. He torments my poor Tommen. Just a year or so ago, he shot Tommen’s precious doe and skinned it, something Robert taught him.” Cersei silently cursed Robert, she spent that whole weekend coddling the distraught, tear-stricken Tommen. “I’ve only ever seen him be somewhat gentle to Myrcella.”

 “Maybe, he just needs better mentors. I know Robert, he was my closest friend but no child should be raised by a man that only whores, drinks, and hunts. The next time I take my boys out for a lesson, I’ll take him too.”

Cersei nodded her head and wrapped her arms around Ned, “He’s my first-born, Ned, I love him so unconditionally.”


End file.
